


Suspended In My Masquerade

by handyhunter



Category: Burn Notice, X-Men (comicsverse), X-Men: First Class - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-19
Updated: 2010-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:29:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handyhunter/pseuds/handyhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenage Jean meets teenage Michael during a spring break in Florida, but it's pretty much all about Jean (and Scott). And Bruce Springsteen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suspended In My Masquerade

Spring break in Miami meant sun and sand and heat. And freckles and sunburns. Lazing about near a pool and soaking up the sun would do that to a girl. Jean made a mental note to pick up more sunscreen. For now, she packed up her beach stuff and headed to a nearby eatery, the same one she'd been to for the past two days.

She'd met up with Hank for breakfast; they were both attending the same symposium for extra credit. Bobby arbitrarily decided to extend his spring break another few days when he found out Jean and Hank would be in the neighbourhood for the weekend; he was there strictly for the water-sports and girls, not necessarily in that order. Warren elected not to go because "why go to a beach where you can't even take your shirt off?" Also, he'd met someone named Candy Southern and had been spending every available minute with her.

Scott wasn't there for Scott-reasons-- well, no. They'd _both_ agreed on seeing other people during college. Long distance relationships never worked out, they said. They could still be friends. It was probably a good thing they were breaking up on friendly terms, rather than have the relationship go stale or turn ugly. And yet, Jean sometimes thought if she said something to him, _he_ wouldn't have a problem with a long distance relationship. But that was the way it always was with them, wasn't it? She initiated and he eagerly followed - or didn't, if he thought it was too risky - but he was always _there_, to the point where she couldn't hear herself think anymore. So she left, and he let her.

If Hank were sitting with her, he'd pat her shoulder awkwardly and say something that would make her feel better, without dispensing any useful advice, like "Go home. Make nice with your boyfriend, who is also our team leader, so we can all be happy and not worry about saying the wrong thing." Not that Hank would even think such thoughts.

Here she was, sitting on a balcony overlooking a gorgeous beach, hundreds of pretty people around her, feeling sorry for herself.

"Whoa! Heads up!"

Jean looked up in time to see a beach ball sailing towards her. She automatically started to stop it with her telekinesis until she remembered where she was. She gave it a flick instead, redirecting its landing onto the table, belatedly recalling the full glass of water. It knocked over the glass with enough force to splash the person at the table in front of her. The resultant gasp made everyone in the restaurant turn towards them.

"Young lady! What is the meaning of this!"

"I'm sorry. It wasn't my fault," she said meekly.

Nothing she said calmed the other woman down, though, and finally, the manager asked Jean to leave. "But it wasn't my fault!"

_I could make you think you were a toad,_ she thought, starting to see red. Next to her a plastic palm tree was vibrating in tune to her anger.

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and calmly collected the offending ball, which had rolled to the base of the plastic tree, and let herself be escorted out. _Not worth your time,_ she told herself. Still, when the woman picked up her fruity blue drink, Jean gave her hand a slight mental nudge, and blue liquid sloshed over the rim and onto the woman's white blouse. A pity it wasn't a red drink. There was another loud gasp and more screaming.

Jean smiled to herself and marched down to the end of the block. "Excuse me," she tapped the shoulder in front of her, "I believe this belongs to you."

The boy stopped walking. "Oh, yeah." He didn't make eye-contact and even blushed a little as he retook possession of the ball. "Thanks. Hey, Michael, I found it!"

Michael, presumably, turned around. He was wearing red sunglasses and a long-sleeved dress shirt and dark pants despite the heat and humidity. "Great. Why don't you run home now?"

The boy appeared to consider arguing for a moment, then he sighed and disappeared into the crowd.

Michael flashed her a big smile with altogether too many teeth. "Sorry about that. I gather he was the cause of all the commotion up there?"

Jean shrugged. "Not really. Is he going to be okay?"

"Nate? Yeah. We live close by. He's my idiot brother... And we haven't properly met." He held out his hand. "Michael Westen."

Jean took the proffered hand. "Jean Grey. Why don't you buy me a drink?" She'd been wanting to try out that line.

They ended up at a smoothie bar two blocks away. She sipped her strawberry shake and tried not to think about Scott. Michael was a good distraction. He was also younger than she'd first thought.

"How old are you?" she asked in the next lull in their conversation.

"18," he said. "Almost." He pulled off his sunglasses and laid it on the table between the two of them. She wondered if he'd think she was weird if she asked him to put them back on. Probably. So she didn't.

"I'm 19," she replied.

"Ancient," he deadpanned. His drink was some sort of yogurt concoction that was too thick too drink through a straw. He swapped it out for a spoon. "So, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

_An X-Man. Not an X-Man. Teacher. Actress. Phoenix. Married, maybe. Taxi driver. World explorer. Dolphin trainer._ Words and images flashed through her mind, some of them too quick for her to catch. "A scientist," she said quickly, to fill the long pause. "It's why I'm here, actually. The talk about DNA mapping?" Michael nodded like he understood. "What about you?"

"I'm getting the hell out of here." He said it like it was a done deal, and maybe it was; he didn't elaborate and she didn't ask.

The topic turned to other, mundane things, and the sky was beginning to darken when Jean remembered she had made plans to meet Hank and Bobby for dinner. "We're going to Joe's Stone Crab? I think it's called. If you'd like to join us," she said as they walked out of the smoothie bar. "It's not our usual type of hangout, but we decided to splurge a little."

He smiled, a real one this time. "I'd love to. Believe me, you don't know how much I'd love to, but I have to get home."

"Okay." He sounded sincere, and Jean wasn't about to pry inside his head to find out otherwise. "It was nice meeting you, Michael Westen." She reached up to kiss his cheek, but he turned his head so their lips met. She closed her eyes and the kiss was over.

"See you around, Jeannie."

Later, as she was walking to her hotel on a very full stomach and happy thoughts - the combination of Hank, Bobby and a margarita (there may have been a _tiny_ psychic suggestion about not carding them, and it wasn't like they were drinking irresponsibly or driving or anything like that) was good for that - she caught sight of a garish piece of stationary in the window of an office supply store. It was purple and pink, with XOXOXOs around the border, discounted by 75% and perfect for what she wanted.

_Dear Scott,_ she wrote, back in her room,

> _Can you believe it's two days after Valentine's Day? This is the first year in a while that we haven't done anything together. I don't know about you, but I was more upset than I thought I would be. AND I got yelled at by a crabby bitch person for something that was TOTALLY NOT my fault and thrown out of a restaurant. I got even, though. I'm alright now. I met someone today. He reminded me of you, a bit (and not just because he had red sunglasses!!). I don't think I'll ever see him again. Well, that's melodramatic. I just meant our paths crossed today, and it's unlikely they'll cross again; I'm not sure I'd even want to see him again. _
> 
> Do you remember the Springsteen concert Warren got us tickets to? Bobby was telling me and Hank - we all had dinner together (crab cakes! yum!) - about some freshmen prank, and it suddenly occurred to me that YOU are the "cosmic kid" Bruce was singing about. You know, the one in "full-costume drag dress." Because you're all about the costumes! Also, you are stubborn and never do what you're told without questioning it from a billion different angles first. (This is only okay sometimes, like when you have to laser optic blast (is this a verb? I'm using it as one) evil vines and stuff that get caught in my hair. But a faster reaction time would not have been a problem for me either. I'm just saying. In case you want to practice. Of course you want to practice. So now you have a goal. So there.)
> 
> Sometimes I think the only reason why you agreed to go out with me is because you'd thought about it for years already. It would have been MUCH easier to fall for Warren, let me tell you. Or Wanda, if it weren't for Pietro, or finding out her dad is our nemesis, or her powers, but OTHERWISE...
> 
> Oh, yeah. I've decided to become a scientist. So has Hank. Or maybe a seal trainer, like at Sea World. Don't spend all your time studying. And don't kiss too many girls. One or two are okay, as long as you don't like them more than you like me. You can kiss Warren for me. He'd probably kiss you back. But maybe not when Candy's around.
> 
> I'll see you when I go home.
> 
> &lt;3 Jean Grey

 

She folded the paper, focused her power on it and blew it up into a thousand tiny particles. _Totally better than a shredder._ She swept the dust pile into the garbage bin, and turned out the light.

It wasn't a letter she needed to send.


End file.
